


the ones we run to

by mintgreyashes



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Hurt, Suicidal Thoughts, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-18 23:25:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18127895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintgreyashes/pseuds/mintgreyashes
Summary: Peter takes a step forward.Breathes.Peers down to the busy streets, trying to ignore the steady pounding of his heart, drowning and drowning his mind's cries.He's tired. He's so, so tired.Just another step, and he'll... fall.He's so, so, so close to the edge, that if he just leans-"Kid?"Peter startles.He turns, eyes wide and movements stiff."Mr Stark."





	the ones we run to

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing fanfiction for the Marvel fandom, or anything related to Avengers and Spiderman, to be honest.
> 
> Hope I didn't mess this up too badly :)

  
He stands at the edge, — _inhale, exhale—_ feels the wind ruffle his hair, and sighs.

A step forward; he peers down, and all it takes for it to go away, all it takes for everything to _stop_ —

To end it all, to not have to face the possibilty of every new day. The anger, the pain, the overwhelming, crushing feeling of _numbness._

All of it _gone_ if—

 _If_ he just... falls.

Peter swallows, — _down, down,_ _ **down,**_ _all of it—_ staring at those streets below, the faint sound of traffic in the distance; the people he will never get to know.

People that would _never_ know about his one. measly. life.

The thought is _paralysing,_ realising just how small and insignificant he is, and whether it really mattered, or if people would _care,_ if they knew that he were here.

Standing on the edge, thinking of just _ending it all._

Yet—

...Yet he just can't seem to let go—

To fall, to end it all.

Even if he's tired, even if he's _done._

He understands.

And perhaps, he had always understood.

Peter... doesn't want to die.

He had never, _never_ wished for death.

Never.

That thought echoes in his mind, — _over and over—_ like a mantra screaming, _'I don't want this. I don't want to die—'_

It bubbles within him, the hysteria rising, almost like a swirling vortex of whirlpools _drowning_ him, escaping through his eyes as _pleas._

_"Help me."_

He whispers, hands outreached, sounds of traffic drowning and drowning and taking his voice away. Hiding away all he's ever wanted, all he's ever _wished_ for.

_"...Help—"_

Because _that's_ how the world works.

Ignore the weak, show cruelty like no other; because people like _him_ didn't deserve to be saved.

Not if—

Not if Peter couldn't even be strong enough to face his own demons.

And now...

Now it's a chilling thought, wondering, _"...What happens next?"_

He had wanted someone, hadn't he? Someone — _anyone—_ to _save_ him, to be _his hero._

But...

_I suppose not everyone gets what they wish for._

He takes a step forward.

Breathes.

Peers down to the busy streets, trying to ignore the steady pounding of his heart, drowning and drowning his mind's cries.

Thump.

_No._

Thump.

_I don't—_

_This isn't what I want—_

Thump.

_Help me._

He's tired. He's so, _so_ tired.

Just another step, and he'll... fall.

He's so, so, _so close_ to the edge, that if he just leans—

_"Kid?"_

Peter startles.

He turns, eyes wide and movements stiff.

"Mr Stark."

God, even his words sounded hollow.

_Useless, useless—_

"What're ya' doing up there, kid?" The man smirks, gesturing towards him, posture suave and relaxed as always. "Can't imagine it being quite comfortable, eh?"

Tony swallows, and Peter _knows_ what he's trying to do.

He sees the man's hands tremble, _sees_ the way Mr Stark's eyes are impossibly wide and _panicked_.

Because even with him being as _ruined_ as he is, he is. _not. stupid._

So instead, he turns, ignoring the man in favour of facing the lights below, beckoning and beckoning and _never caring._

Peter hears the man swallow again. A desperate sound, almost as though he was holding back a pained keen.

"You came?"

And sees the moment realisation dawns on his, dare-he-say, mentor's face, even with his cryptic words.

The realisation that Peter doesn't want this.

Doesn't want death.

_"Oh, Pete."_

He doesn't reply.

Tony takes a step forward, and—

"I'm sorry."

His words leave Peter reeling back in shock. Then, his world spins as he snaps his gaze back at this tired, weary, _kind_ man in front of him.

_Why?_

_Why are you sorry?_

_You didn't do anything wrong—_

And it hits him all at once.

Oh.

_Oh._

Because _that's_ how kind of a person Mr Stark is.

To blame _himself_ , of all people, when it'd _never_ been his fault in the first place. Or May, or Ned, or even _Flash—_ because the only person to blame for all this is _him._

Because Peter Parker is _pathetic._

_Because the world is never fair._

_Never._

_Not to Peter, no._

"—Pete? Buddy, come on, step away from the edge, alright?"

Mr Stark's voice is suddenly so much closer, and as Peter turns to peer down, he feels the wind in his hair.

And it is then, he thinks, almost absently, _'is this how a hero saves the day?'_

Before...

Before he swallows.

_A hero._

Feels desperation build up.

_This is not what I want._

"Mr Stark..." He feels tears welling, and the rush of emotions bursting through floodgates has him almost doubling over in pain.

Because despite it all, Peter is still a _child._

Hopeful, wishing and wishing and _wishing_ —

And his _hero, —finally, finally came—_ the one reaching out to stop him from drowning and falling and dying—

Tony Stark smiles.

Reaches a hand out.

"I've got your back, kid. No matter what."

And Peter stares, stares, and _stares._

For the first time, _seeing_ and _feeling._

The absolute _love_ in Mr Stark's eyes.

He is safe.

_Finally—_

He allows himself to crumble.

To be weak.

The wind ruffles his hair, and if he just leans—

He could fall.

He could _die._

But he doesn't want that.

_I'd never wished for death._

_All I'd ever wanted..._

_All I'd ever wished for..._

_Was a hero._

Peter takes the hand.

And chooses to live.


End file.
